Every Step Of The Way
by stillwritingjag
Summary: No summary provided.


Author: Laurie

Story Title: Every Step Of The Way

Classification: A little angst. Nothing to worry about.

Posted: December 2007

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Paramount, CBS, et.al. No infringement

is intended.

Author's Note: Canon purists should not muddy their brains nor mine by pointing out the story (or timeline) is at odds (or out of character) with Harm and Mac being married while being on good terms with Webb and Chegwidden.

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"Daddy … Daddy wake up."

Wrapped in the comforting cocoon of deep sleep, Harm groaned. His heavy eyelids were telling him it was too early to wake up, but his little girl was insistent. 'His little girl.' It was a phrase that never failed to warm him from the inside. He smiled, letting himself savor the feeling.

"Daddy, please … it's snowing."

A little less groggy, his brain began leaving the world of dreams and began breaking through the surface to something immensely better. His arm was still asleep though. "It's snowing?" he asked. Flexing his hand, he tried to get it to go from 'dead log' to tingling 'pincushion' status.

"Yes, it's snowing, and you promised. Now wake up." Two little hands tugged on Harm's awakening limb. It immediately became a target for porcupine quills.

His eyes still closed, Harm wracked his brain. What had he promised? This is not good Rabb. You cannot make promises to your little girl and then forget them. What would he have promised? Sledding at six in the morning didn't make sense. Nor was he in a position to proclaim that most joyous of occurrences for school children everywhere – a snow day.

"Wake up! You promised."

This time Harm heard something in his daughter's voice that tore through his soul. She was crying. God! The day hadn't even begun and he had made her cry. He frowned and forced one eye open.

"What's wrong?" Mac asked, the morning ruckus finally making her stir. Still drowsy, she nevertheless snaked her hand up underneath Harm's t-shirt and rubbed his back.

"It's snowing," Harm and Mackenzie answered as one.

Beneath the covers, Mac intertwined her legs with Harms'. The bed was toasty warm, a little piece of heaven on earth. Her socked foot ran up and down his calf while her arms encircled his waist. She pulled closer to his body, her breath caressing his neck until her lips whispered in his ear, "If it's snowing, you better get up. You promised."

Harm groaned. His attention shifted back to his daughter. What had he promised? If he couldn't remember, was he allowed to ask; or would doing so create some cosmic rip in his universe of happiness?

----------------- 

As she stood over her father, tiny ice crystals clung to Mackenzie's red woolen mittens. Great grandma Sarah had knit them especially for her and she treasured them. A rainbow of yarn strung between the pair allowed her to hang them around her neck, helping assure they wouldn't be lost. But the best thing about them was the colorful pompoms. Sewed onto the mittens, the little balls of yarn served as eyes and noses, turning the gloves into whimsical hand puppets that she called Jack and Jill. No matter his mood, Mackenzie could always use the puppets to make her father laugh. Except now.

Why wouldn't he get up? He shouldn't be sleeping, not now. Didn't he know it was snowing and that he had made a promise to her? She thought about shaking him, but knew Mommy wouldn't approve. Instead she placed one snowy hand on his cheek and the other over the bump on his forehead. A 'goose egg' Daddy had called something similar on her own head after she had fallen off the porch steps. She remembered how his strong arms had held her while he tenderly placed a bag of frozen peas on the 'goose egg'. He had first tried to use the frozen carrots. But she hated carrots; the peas were okay though. Now however, there were no peas or carrots around; only snow and lots of it. So she patted his face, willing her snowy touch to conquer the realm of his sleep.

Once Harm conceded victory to the uncomfortable frostiness, awareness came quickly and the coldness on his face was replaced by an anguished chill in his heart.

They had crashed! He had crashed the plane with his most precious possession on board! Mac would never forgive him; not after they had quarreled. Nor would he ever be able to forgive himself. The guilt might have swallowed him whole, if not for the knowledge that he needed to suppress his emotion and fear, it was mental baggage that could impede their survival.

"Daddy, … please … I'm scared …."

Unable to see Mackenzie clearly, Harm brought his hand to his face and captured his daughter's hand in his. Grasping the lifeline, he pulled himself back to full consciousness, instinctively smelling for smoke in the process. When he detected neither heat nor flames, he thanked the anti-fire system. When he opened his eyes and took in the sight of his six-year old little girl, he thanked God.

While her presence next to him suggested she was well enough to unbuckle herself from the seat in the rear and move through the slanting fuselage to reach him in the small cockpit, he needed to make certain she wasn't injured. But the light cast by the little flashlight she had placed on the instrument panel was waning and was insufficient for him to make sure. Frustrated, he cursed himself for not having the energy to shake it. He need not have worried, for without having to ask, Mackenzie did it instead until a bright light replaced the dim cockpit.

"Good girl. Now let Daddy see if you're okay."

When she leaned in closer, Harm looked into her eyes that were so much like his. Then he ran his hand down the side of her cherubic, young face before brushing the brown bangs off her forehead. He breathed a little easier not seeing a mark on her. "Do you hurt anywhere?" he asked weakly.

"No, but I was cold, so I put my coat and hat on. Mittens too."

Thank God she had gotten Mac's brains. The thought of his wife jolted him. "Mac!" You're an idiot Rabb, he berated himself.

Lightning went off in his head as he turned it to seek Mac in the dark fuselage. His eyes scanned for any movement. He swiveled his back to his daughter. Sheer willpower forced away the edges of blackness encroaching on his vision. "Where's Mom?!"

Mackenzie's brow knit in confusion. "She's … she's not here."

"Where is she?!" Harm screamed.

The little girl took a step backwards, the fear in her eyes screaming just as loudly.

Harm grabbed her smaller hand, not letting her go any further. Lowering his voice, Harm tried again. "Mackenzie, where's Mommy? Did she leave the plane?"

"She's not here!" Mackenzie answered, trying hard but failing to keep the tears from streaming down her face.

Harm eased his head back against the seat to get control of his thoughts. "No, of course she's not here," he said, his words little more than a whisper.

"It's just the two of us," Mackenzie felt the need to add, making sure he understood.

Harm closed his eyes. "I know, honey. I'm sorry. Daddy was confused."

Her father wasn't ever confused. Or sick. Or in pain. At least not in Mackenzie's world. He was the slayer of dragons, mender of skinned knees, and king of the castle, protecting her from all evil and foes. "Daddy … are you okay?"

Harm didn't think so. But he knew he was scaring his daughter; and that knowledge drove his guilt to the forefront until he again pushed the need to blame himself back down.

"I'm fine." The white lie came easy. It was more of a challenge to get his thumb to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. His lack of coordination suggested hypothermia was creeping in. For the time being he set the thought aside and focused on easing his daughter's fears. "We'll be alright, Kenser."

"Promise."

It was a command, not a request. It wasn't enough that Harm's words conveyed confidence. She knew this was no ordinary glitch in her young life. It went well beyond that and she wanted the assurance she knew accompanied a Rabb promise. But Harm hadn't even completed his assessment of their situation yet. He was still held tight by the three-point restraints of the twin-engine Enright Falcon.

The plane was owned by Pennsylvania Senator John Krantz. Learning that Harm was a friend of Congresswoman Bobbi Latham, Krantz called in a favor and had Bobbi ask Harm to ferry the plane from Harrisburg to Washington. Upon learning Harm was currently on leave and of the proximity of Harm's grandmother's farm to the state capitol, Krantz insisted Harm mix business and pleasure.

The unexpected opportunity to visit his grandmother on someone else's dime no less, was too hard to pass up. The unexpected storm that was now blowing snow through the missing cockpit window, was a different matter.

It all came rushing back to him -- the need to rely on instruments as the weather deteriorated, the erratic compass, zero visibility. He remembered cursing when he couldn't signal a mayday because all his concentration was required to get the plane, and more importantly themselves, on the ground in one piece.

Well they were on the ground, but the wings had been sheered off the Falcon -- not exactly achieving the 'one piece' goal. At least the fuselage had remained relatively intact. But the hell with the plane, what mattered was his daughter appeared to be fine; which was something he couldn't say of himself.

His left arm felt like it was on fire. He tried lifting it for a better look but pain immediately radiated down his forearm and squelched the idea. Moving his eyes to his wrist, he saw the crystal on his watch was broken and the face destroyed.

"Kenser, what time is it?"

Deemed too young by her parents to carry her own cell phone, Mackenzie studied the Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist. She took her time, determined to give a 'grown up' answer - no little hand is on the five, and big hand on the eight for her. While she scrutinized the timepiece, Harm used the opportunity to better assess his injury.

His sleeve was stained with blood, camouflaged somewhat by the red and black plaid of his flannel shirt. Easing aside the torn fabric, he found a piece of the shattered windshield had sliced opened a three-inch gash and remained embedded below his elbow. He tried to wiggle his fingers, achieving only limited success. But at least the wound wasn't bleeding at the moment. He suspected that might change though if he tried to remove the painful fragment.

"It's twenty minutes to six or forty min--," Mackenzie stopped, her time-telling mission forgotten upon seeing the blood on her father's arm. Color drained from her face. "Daddy! You're hurt!"

"A little. But we'll do something about that."

"Like what?"

That depended on whether or not the section of Plexiglas remained in his arm. And that depended on whether or not they could expect help anytime soon. And that depended on whether they could communicate their situation. "I'm not sure yet," Harm answered honestly. Turning to the radio, he shivered. "Kenser, can you get my jacket, please."

While Mackenzie worked on retrieving the coat from the cargo netting behind his seat, Harm tried the radio, reciting several maydays on a number of different frequencies. Not even static acknowledged his attempts.

That would have been too easy, Harm sighed, willing himself to be strong. His stoic façade nearly crumbled when Mackenzie began tucking his parka around his torso.

"You need to stay warm, Daddy."

Harm swallowed hard as his eyes glistened with pride and love. Afraid Mackenzie would think his watery eyes had to do with his injury, he quickly dried them before pulling a woolen cap from one of the jacket pockets. It too was knitted by his grandmother. He pointed to the lettering stitched on the hat that read 'I'm the Dad' and then pointed to his chest.

Pleased he had elicited a small smile from his serious daughter, he tugged the cap onto his head. "Kenser, pull your hat down over your ears and put your hood up."

For all the times his daughter had complained about wearing the hood of her jacket, she didn't balk this time. Instead she simply took off her mittens, letting them dangle while she tied the hood in place. Once the mittens were back on, Harm smiled. "That's my girl."

Mackenzie ignored the praise, biting her lip before asking, "Doesn't the phone work either?"

Harm had tried his cell after the radio attempt failed. "The battery is good. But there aren't any bars. The hills might be messing with the reception."

"So no one knows we need help."

Harm heard the quiver in her voice. "Don't worry. They'll figure out we're missing when we don't arrive by eight."

He didn't add that it would be unlikely any search and rescue could be initiated before dawn. It was also unclear if the emergency transponder was sending a signal as to their location. What was clear was the wind was picking up and the temperature would be dropping as night took hold. On a positive note, they had survived the crash and were alive to hunker down for the night. It might be a little uncomfortable but they had each other to help get them through.

He pulled his daughter close and kissed her cheek. "Everything will be alright."

She returned the kiss then stepped back, waiting for him to make it so.

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Taking a deep breath, Harm unbuckled his restraints. Once on his feet, he was a little dizzy and stiffer than he realized. But he shook the negative thoughts away and replaced them with three goals – shelter, water, warmth -- the keys to their survival. "Grab the flashlight. We're moving to the back."

Counting the pilot's, there were eight luxury seats in the Falcon, four on each side of a small aisle. A heavy, plush curtain could be pulled in place to separate the cockpit from the passenger seats. Closing it wouldn't make a difference in the temperature, but it would help keep the snow and wind off them.

Holding his injured arm against his side and his daughter close on his heels, Harm took two steps toward the back of the plane. If he could have foreseen the consequences, he would have stopped right there. For with the third step, the fuselage shifted its position. Mackenzie's feet went out from under her. She landed on her behind. Jostled himself, Harm managed to keep his footing but was tossed hard against a starboard leather seat, then back to port.

"Daddy!"

Mackenzie's scream echoed the alarm in Harm's gut. He held his breath willing the plane to settle. It obeyed and all movement ceased. Breathing hard, he cautiously righted himself and steadied his voice. "It's alright, I'm right here. Stay where you are and hand me the flashlight."

From his higher vantage point, Harm shined the meager beam first out a port window then a starboard. He gasped as the frightening scene outside snatched his breath away. A cold gust of wind returned it, bringing understanding.

After the crash, the wingless Falcon had come to rest on a snow-covered hill, leaving the downhill side of the fuselage leaning against a cluster of pine saplings. Harm suspected some of the saplings on the slippery slope had broken when he started toward the back of the plane, their sudden lack of support disrupting the plane's already precarious position. Now what remained of the Charlie Brown-like evergreens were all that was keeping them from sliding over a drop-off five yards away. Whether that drop was ten feet or a hundred, he did not know; but he knew they couldn't stay here.

With a confident hand, Harm slowly helped his daughter to her feet before carefully easing back into the seat he had recently struggled to get out of.

"Daddy?"

A hundred questions were conveyed in the one-word query. Harm knew there wasn't time to answer them all.

"We're going to leave the plane. I'll explain later. For now I need you to do exactly as I say."

Their eyes met, connecting them on a level that was as deep as it was clear. He was a part of her life; she a part of his; both needed to live to be whole. Then the plane rocked again as one more sapling gave way under its burden. Mackenzie's breathing quickened; her body trembled and her face turned white. "Daddy--"

"Kenser, I promise we'll be okay."

There it was; the oath he needed to say and she needed to hear -- a salve that instantly extinguished her panic. Now all Harm had to do was keep his word; but how?

One step at a time; together – The simple answer was written on his daughter's trusting face.

Harm swallowed hard; if it were only that simple. He knew what had to be done, and it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. "But to keep my promise, I need your help."

"Me?" Mackenzie asked, her voice sounding every bit as small as her young being.

Harm nodded. "There's a red tackle box under the last seat in the plane." He was so scared. "It has a white cross on it." God, keep her safe. "I need you to bring it up here." Please, God.

"I don't know if--"

"I do." Harm pulled her near. "You can do it, Kenser. I know you can." He hugged her. "If the box is too heavy to carry, drag or push it." He kissed her cheek. "Don't move too fast." He tapped her nose. "And don't lose your mittens." He smiled. "Ready?"

A silent, determined nod was his answer. And with that nod, their roles reversed. She would be his hero.

When she moved away, Harm prayed that, unlike his 200 pounds, his daughter's shorter center of gravity and lighter weight wouldn't disrupt their precarious perch. Meanwhile Mackenzie took his instructions to heart and moved ever so slowly towards the back of the plane and the survival box. Harm dared not pressure her into moving faster, so he used the nerve-racking time to deal with his injured arm. Shelter, water, and warmth might be the agenda, but first-aid had to take precedence; and it was best not to waste time or have his daughter watch.

It would be like pulling off a band-aid, the quicker the better, isn't that what he told Mackenzie so many times until she trusted it was true. Gripping the edges of the shard between his stiff thumb and index finger, he gritted his teeth. Willing himself not to stop no matter what, he pulled. There was no sign Mackenzie heard his muffled groan as the sliver came free. He closed his eyes and tossed the bloody piece aside before clamping his hand over the cut to quiet the pain and slow the bleeding.

Opening his eyes five minutes later, he saw his daughter return on her knees, pushing the survival box in front of her, the goofy grins on her mittens inconsistent with the expression she wore.

"You did it, Kenser," Harm smiled weakly. "I'm so proud of you."

Seeing her watery eyes, his smile disappeared. "What's wrong?"

"My backpack is still back there."

"We'll get you another one when we get home."

"Please Daddy…" Mackenzie pointed back the way she had come. "I want that one."

"You have important stuff in it?" Harm asked, wondering what could possibly be worth the risk to allow her to return for it and delay their departure.

She nodded with a pleading look and sniffle. "Very important."

The plane shuddered, buffeted by another strong blast of winter air. This was crazy. They should be making a hasty exit; but instead he asked, "Can you get it in less than sixty seconds?"

Using the sleeve of her jacket to wipe the wetness off her face, Mackenzie nodded.

"Okay. But be careful." And hurry Harm added to himself.

Her confidence stoked from the prior trip, she returned triumphantly in half the allotted time. "Got it!" She hefted the yellow Scooby Doo pack for him to see, but her high spirits were immediately tempered by the worried look on her father's face. "What's wrong?"

Harm eyes wandered back to the open survival box at his feet, but it was Mackenzie who stated the obvious. "It's empty." She swooshed her hand around the inside of the bare container. "There was supposed to be important stuff in it?"

Harm didn't answer out loud but mentally rattled off the 'important stuff' that should have been there – matches, water, first-aid kit, snack bars, flashlight, flare gun -- all stuff that would have made it easier to keep his promise. He pursed his lips, silently reevaluating his options. A flurry of snow swirled around them, stressing a sense of urgency.

"What stuff, Daddy?" Mackenzie persisted.

Harm zipped his jacket. "A few things we'll be fine without." He pushed the useless box aside and stood, claiming the space where it had been. The wind grew stronger. "Let's put Scooby Doo on so your hands will be free."

As Harm hurried to affix the pack to her back, Mackenzie shuffled her feet. Harm knew she had grown accustomed to their current surroundings and was more comfortable with them than what waited outside. But they couldn't stay.

With the decision reinforced, Harm evaluated their few exit options. The main exit door was inaccessibly pinned against the side of the hill, and the other was too risky to use without adding more weight to the saplings. That left one route. "We're going to leave through the cockpit window."

Mackenzie's hands went around his waist as she leaned into him. "But ..." Her voice trailed off, leaving her fears unspoken.

Harm lifted her chin and asked gently, "Remember my promise?"

"Yes. Will you help me?"

"Absolutely. Ready?"

"Okay. But you'll be right behind?"

"Yep, every step of the way."

Together they scoped out the drop from the mangled window frame. "Piece of cake," Harm said. "Piece of cake," Mackenzie echoed quietly as her father helped her climb onto the instrument console. From there it was 'feet first' through the window while her father grasped her wrists above the slippery mittens. Even with his arms extended out the window, her feet didn't reach the ground.

"You'll only drop a foot, Kenser," Harm assured her. And it was true; nothing to worry about. Why then was he finding letting go so hard.

Suddenly, with the instincts and reflexes honed from years of experience, he sensed the rest of the saplings giving way. With no time for further instructions or encouragement, he dropped his daughter and pushed himself head first through the tight opening. There was a moment of terror when his hips didn't cleanly clear the small window, but then gravity took over, pulling him free of the plane's final flight.

He felt the cold snow on his face the same time he heard the grinding of metal against rock below. Then the unmistakable whoosh of fire penetrated the air. When orange flames lit up their surroundings, the regret of being unable to take advantage of the fuel for a warm fire was a fleeting disappointment when compared with the alternative of what might have been. The sudden presence of Mackenzie diving into his arms drove the point home.

Harm sat up, letting his daughter straddle his thighs and lean back against his chest. They watched the shadows of the flames dance across the snow, the swirling acrid smoke acting like a large kaleidoscope as it played with the descending snowflakes. Only their breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the sound of the wind through some unseen trees made the moment real. "Are you okay, Kenser?"

"Yeah, it's kind of pretty."

Harm's hearty laugh earned him a confused look and another handful of snow on his bruised forehead. Rather than explain his reaction, he simply returned the concerned gesture by hugging the precious bundle in his arms. "I love you."

As the flames died down and returned the area to darkness, Mackenzie pushed off Harm's chest. "I love you too, Daddy. But what do we do now?"

His night vision kicking in, Harm studied the landscape. Going down might lead them to streams and creeks; which usually led to populated areas. But the rocky embankments below them required daylight to safely navigate. If not for the treeless slope, he might have considered staying put and tunneling a shelter in the snow; but the cleared area could be an avalanche chute. In other words, it was no place to sleep on a snowy night. A decision made, he answered her, "Now we head up the hill to find some trees or large rocks."

"Maybe the phone will work up there too."

Harm chuckled. He hadn't thought of that. "Maybe," he echoed hopefully as they stood.

"There's so much snow." Mackenzie's voice held awe and concern.

"How about I give you a piggy-back ride?"

"Okay. But only if I get to keep the flashlight going. You can't do everything yourself."

Harm smiled; there were those brains again. He had to agree the arrangement made sense. Mackenzie was spared having to expend valuable energy by plowing thru the deep snow and she stayed warm by shaking the battery-less flashlight every four minutes or so.

As for himself, the hard going insured he also stayed warm, to the point of perspiring. He would pay the price later for his wet clothing and loss of valuable liquid. But for now he had no choice.

Each step plunged his leg into snow up to his knee. Each step required lifting the previously placed foot high enough to clear the dense snow before it could be moved forward. Each step required a deep breath and a little bit more of him. With each step he repeated the same mantra -- shelter, water, warmth – and more first-aid. With each step, his paced slowed and the biting wind started winning the game.

Finally, though, they crested the top of the hill where his efforts were rewarded with a forest of mature trees, if not the cell phone service that he secretly hoped for. But it was a location where they could find shelter. It was also a location that kept them close to where the plane went down so if anyone saw the flames or picked up the transponder's transmission before it was destroyed, they would be close enough to signal the search and rescue aircraft. The leeward side of the hill also had less snow and a rocky outcrop that would make a good windbreak.

"We're going to stay here?" Mackenzie asked when Harm eased her to the ground before re-clamping his hand over his injured arm.

"Yep. But first we need to gather a few things."

"Like something to fix your arm?"

Harm settled upon a snow-covered log to rest and glanced at the blood staining his fingers and getting under his fingernails. "I was thinking of pine boughs or leaves to lie upon and wood for a fire," he replied.

"But shouldn't you fix your arm first?"

The worry and persistence in her voice tugged at Harm's heart. "You're right," he conceded. "I don't have anything to stitch it close but I can wrap it with part of my shirt."

"There's the mending box—"

"That Grandma Sarah wanted Mom to have," Harm finished as Mackenzie dropped to her knees and began rooting through her yellow Scooby Doo pack. Harm's spirits rose, thanking God yet again that his daughter got Mac's brains.

As she searched the pack's contents, Harm forgot his painful arm and let his thoughts return to years ago. As a young boy he was entranced by the small sewing box his grandmother kept handy on the window ledge in her dining room. But it wasn't the gilded 'SR' initials intricately carved into the Sterling silver lid that intrigued him. Rather, it was the tiny scissors that 'folded' away and disappeared into a special slot on the bottom of the case. He smiled, remembering how he would pester his grandmother until she gave him permission to work the small latch that released the scissors and sprung open the lid to unveil a rainbow of fine threads, perfectly organized as if they had never been disturbed or used. It was the worn thimble inside that proved otherwise -- the thimble and the many times he had watched her grab the box to mend the latest tear he ripped in his clothes when playing on the farm. Her nimble fingers--

"Cool!" Mackenzie's voice drew him back to the present. "The box has Mom's initials." Harm smiled tiredly as she figured out the latch. He shivered when she modeled the thimble on her thumb, the only finger it came close to fitting. Some day, under better circumstances, he was certain she would also discover the etching on the inside of the thimble where a tiny heart surrounded the message 'To SR with Endless Love'. He fought to stay awake when Mackenzie stood and balanced the box on his thigh. She also placed in his hand a small travel size bottle of hand disinfectant that Grandma Sarah had given her.

"What now?" she asked a little timidly, her prior excitement tempered by visions of what must be done.

Harm sighed quietly and considered a shaggy dog story; some long-winded tale that would distract her much like his father had done when tending to a similar wound on a long ago fishing trip.

As he thought about a good opening line, he thanked his grandmother's efficiency when he found three different size needles already threaded with a variety of colors. Two extra needles were available if needed.

He psyched himself to quickly do what he had to do, then asked, "How about I tell you a story?", as he nonchalantly pushed up his bloody jacket and shirt sleeves.

As his daughter considered the question, Harm poured the contents of the plastic bottle into the length of the gash. He didn't hiss or flinch even though it stung like hell.

"Okay, if you want," Mackenzie finally answered. "But not Sleeping Beauty or Snow White."

Harm quirked an eyebrow as he sanitized one of the threaded needles in what remained of the disinfectant. He hadn't even considered a Disney story. But since his daughter pointed him in that direction, he asked, "Why not those two?"

"They're wimps and sleep too much."

Harm muffled his chuckle by cupping his hands and repeatedly blowing warm air onto the fingers of his right hand.

"How about The Little Mermaid? Ariel's no wimp," Harm suggested finally able to make his fingers grasp the seemingly incredibly small needle.

"No she isn't, but her father is overbearing."

The tears in Harm's eyes became a mixture of mirth and pain as he began stitching shut the cut.

"I see," he managed, amazed by his daughter's intelligence. "How about Cinderella?" he asked pulling the thread taut before piercing the edge of the torn skin in a new spot.

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. "There's no father in that story."

"Pinnochio?" Harm suggested next.

"Daddy, he's a boy."

"I forgot. So does that eliminate One Hundred and One Dalmations too because they're dogs?" Harm probed as he continued to work on closing the wound while Mackenzie moved closer to sit on his unencumbered thigh.

"Pongo is okay as a dad. But if we're going with animals, then I prefer The Lion King."

"Oh, is that because Mufasa as a father is powerful and stern; yet playful and sensitive?" Harm winked teasingly as his daughter looked up into his eyes.

"Nooooooo," Mackenzie blushed. "Though those are good reasons."

His vision wavering, Harm tied off the last burning stitch. "Then why The Lion King?"

"Because…"

He fumbled with the small scissors before cutting the last of the thread that still tethered the needle to his arm. "Because why?" he probed, interested in her answer even though he had completed working on his arm.

"Because Simba is cute!" Mackenzie blurted out burying her face in Harm's side. Her arms encircled his waist as her tears let loose.

"Shhh…it's all right." Harm returned the hug suspecting her emotional reaction had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with relieving stress now that the frightening medical procedure was over.

After rocking her another minute, he gently teased, "So you think Simba's cute?"

Harm made out here muffled, "Yeah."

He smiled to himself. "Then we'll rent the movie when we get home," he whispered.

------------------

"This isn't so bad is it Kenser?" Harm asked as the little fire cast moving shadows across the small shelter they had constructed amidst the trees, rocks, and snow.

"It's nice, better than I thought it would be," she admitted. "Good thing you put great-grampa's lighter in your pocket instead of your suitcase."

"Yeah, it was a good thing grandma gave it to me." Harm had opened his jacket and enveloped her in it with his arms protectively holding her close. "Warm enough?" he asked as they spooned against each other.

"Yeah, you're nice and warm."

"Still hungry?"

"No. Grandma Sarah's cookies were good. Too bad she didn't give us milk from the cow to go with them though."

"Drink some more melted snow."

"I don't like drinking it out of the disinfectant bottle."

"I rinsed it good."

"I know, you're smart. Your name must mean 'genius'."

Harm laughed. "Hardly."

"Then what does is mean?"

"Well, it's similar to 'Herman' which means army man."

"You're Navy, but I guess that's close enough."

Harm gasped in mock horror. "Kenser, you compliment me then wound me!"

"I know you're kidding; I didn't really hurt you." She turned around in his arms until she faced him. "Daddy, why do you call me Kenser?"

"Hmmm…I guess because people like to give nicknames to those they have a special relationship with."

"I'm special to you?"

"Very."

"I'm glad. What does my name mean?"

"Mackenzie means handsome."

"Handsome is for boys. Are you ever sorry you don't have a son instead of me?"

"No, never."

"Even when I make you buy pink paint and decorate my room with flowers and butterflies?"

"Nope."

"Or when Mom makes you brush my hair instead of just patting it down?"

"Not even then."

"Or when you find hair bows, barrettes, and ribbons in the sink?"

"Nope. Not even when I find those frilly, twisty things there too. Or when I buy you those cute little ruffly socks."

"Not even when you come to my tea parties and sit among stuffed animals and baby dolls?"

"Nope, especially not then; not even when I have to untangle the hair on your little rainbow ponies."

As the storm raged beyond their shelter, Mackenzie yawned and closed her eyes, "I love you, Daddy."

Harm put more wood on the fire. "I love you more," he said to her sleeping form.

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One minute he was hot and sweating; the next cold and shivering. The comfort of the crackling fire was a distant memory, more figment of his imagination than reality. In the absolute darkness he heard only his own breathing. Not even the wind penetrated the snow that drifted deep around him, encasing him in a cocoon that he was vaguely aware could provide lifesaving insulation. Even his daughter's occasional murmuring and warmth was muted. He pulled his jacket tighter when something clicked. Not audibly but mentally.

"Kenser?!"

His eyes searched unseeing. "Where are you?!" His arms flailed not grasping. "Oh, God!" His panic rose with his racing heartbeat.

The small flashlight came to life as he shook it. "Kenser?!" He pushed his fist through the snow, clearing it away until the light shown upon cold coals, a plastic bottle now filled with ice, and the backpack. "Kenser, answer me!"

Harm forced himself to get control of his raging fear. There was an explanation. She was probably relieving herself, not wanting to wake him. He cast the light more carefully, looking for footprints that would lead him to a happy reunion. "Kenser, where did you go?" he shouted into the wind.

He spotted what might have been the path she took to a nearby tree. The falling snow was rapidly reclaiming the hopeful indentations. He grabbed the pack and stumbled towards the diminishing trail. The clues in the snow soon led down and away from the hill he had climbed hours earlier.

"Kenser can you hear me?" He kept moving, uncertain if his eyes were playing tricks or not. He fell to his knees more than once, crying out as he lost the trail. He got to his feet, determined to find it again. "Kenser, answer me!"

He lost track of any sense of time. He only knew he could not give up the search. He had a promise to keep. Even when his voice ceased to function properly, he continued to shout out. He was so tired and cold but he kept moving, following the whiteness that was becoming more welcoming and bright. It was as if she was with him the closer he got to it; and that thought both comforted and terrified him. And then he stopped, unable to make his legs move as confusion and absolute anguish battled for control. In the end it was exhaustion that extinguished both.

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"Wake up … come on, wake up."

Harm's limbs and eyelids were unbelievably heavy as he mentally trudged through the white fog of sleep. Or was it snow? No, that didn't seem right either. He was no longer cold, just stiff and sore. But that realization did nothing to squash the sadness that accompanied his journey to the surface. A surface to somewhere he wasn't sure was worth living.

"That's it. Come on, return to me."

"Where?" he asked, the word sounding nothing like he intended, but somehow it was understood.

"You're in a hospital. But you'll be fine if you wake up."

He was so weak and just wanted to return to the place where he felt nothing. No pain, no remorse, no reason for living. Instead a tiny spark forced him to know for sure. "Daughter?"

"Umm … She's not here, but--"

"Noooooo!" Harm cried, pushing away the arms that what? Tried to comfort him? Protect him? Give him some reason for living? "Nooooo!" he tried again to escape from the living bonds.

"Harm! It's okay! Open your eyes."

"Mac?"

"I'm here. Everything will be fine."

How could it be fine? His daughter, their daughter wasn't here. How could he face her? How could she love him?

Beneath the covers, Mac intertwined her legs with Harms'. The bed was toasty warm. It would be a little piece of heaven on earth if only he would come back. Her socked foot ran up and down his calf while one arm encircled his waist and the other massaged his back. She pulled closer to his body, her breath caressing his neck until her lips whispered in his ear, "Come on, you made it this far. It's just a little further."

"… Mac? … Kenser?" God he was so confused.

"Who?" Mac asked puzzled.

"… sorry, Mac … so sorry…"

"Harm you have nothing to be sorry for. You came back to us."

"… Us? …" His voice repeated the tiny word that held the potential to hold so much love.

"Yes, 'us'. Mackenzie and me."

"She's not here … You said--," Harm mumbled, his despair dragging him back down.

"Harm, she's just next door. Don't you want to see her?"

"Next … door?"

Mac wiped the tears from beneath his eyes. "I'll get her if you promise to stay awake."

A choke and nod was all he could manage.

---------------

'Mackenzie Patricia Rabb' – Harm read yet again the little wrist tag as he gently played with the tiny hand that he held between his thumb and index finger. "You're so soft. How does it feel to be five days old?"

Mac smiled as she walked into the hospital room. "You're feeling better today."

Harm returned the warm expression. "That's because my head no longer feels like it's in a vice."

"That's good to hear. It's feeding time by the way," Mac reminded him, laughing when he scowled, then clarifying, "Hers, not yours!"

"Oh, okay." Harm grinned, not yet ready to hand over the precious bundle resting in the crook of his arm. He bent his head down and tenderly placed a kiss on her downy head. "Daddy's sorry he missed your birth, Kenser."

Mac joined father and daughter by the bedside. She placed her own kiss on the fading bruise on Harm's forehead then frowned. "You had a nickname for her even before you knew she was born. Don't you like Mackenzie? We can still change it."

Harm chuckled. "I love the name Mackenzie, though she might not."

Mac looked at him a little perplexed. "But you think she'll like Kenser better?"

"She might. It means healthy and strong," Harm explained.

"Well if she's to remain that way, hand her over Dad."

"You'll stay?" 

Mac settled into the extra chair near Harm's bed and opened the top button of her shirt. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

Harm sighed, unable to take his eyes off mother and daughter. "You're both so beautiful. Thank you, Mac."

Mac laughed. "You're welcome. But she's beautiful because she looks like you, you know?"

"But she has your brains," Harm whispered seriously.

Mac was ready to continue the good-natured banter until she heard the slight quiver in Harm's quiet voice. She tilted her head and stared at him with concern. "How could you possibly know that already?"

"Because she was with me every step of the way," Harm answered. Knowing how that sounded, he quickly added. "It's not the head wound, Mac. You believe me don't you?"

Mac considered the possibility, then nodded, her expression softening. "You asked about your 'daughter' before you regained full consciousness. You didn't even know I'd given birth at that point. So yes, I'm certain she was with you. But we won't tell Dr. Roos that, will we?"

Before Harm could agree, Doctor Roos made his presence. "How's the Rabb family today?"

"Good. But we'd be even better if you would spring me from this bed?" Harm answered.

The doctor approached Harm and pulled out his penlight and stethoscope. "Don't rush it Harm. Between the concussion and hypothermia, you're lucky to be alive."

Harm sobered. "I know."

Satisfied that Harm's eyes were dilating and that his heartbeat was strong, Roos used the stethoscope to listen to Harm's lungs.

"Well?" Harm asked when the doctor re-stowed the medical equipment in the pocket of his white coat.

"They're sounding clearer. Two more days. By then those 'pink' stitches of yours can come out and I'll release you. Can you cope with that?" Roos asked.

"He doesn't have a choice," Mac chimed in as Mackenzie burped agreement, bringing laughter from the adults.

"Very well. I'm done here for now; and if little Mackenzie is finished, there is a 'suit' and an Admiral waiting to visit. Okay if I send them in?"

Mac and Harm shared a look and nodded their agreement.

--------------- 

"So Senator Krantz was banking that I would be on the plane too," Mac summarized after Clayton Webb delivered a synopsis he obtained of the official investigation into Harm's crash.

Webb nodded. "It seems so. Evidently he wanted to stop you from uncovering the misappropriation of funds going on in his office."

"And if not for the heated argument I overheard between you and this strong-willed husband of yours, you would have been on that plane too if Harm hadn't talked some common sense into you," Admiral Chegwidden said, directing his comment to Mac.

"I know," Mac said contritely. "But in my defense, can you fault for me for wanting to spend time with him?"

"Yes!" all three men answered at once. "Good Lord, Mac, you were ready to pop at the seams," Chegwidden added.

Mac took the bait. "But I'm a Marine—"

"Who would have likely ended up dead," Chegwidden spat gruffly, extorting a wail from Mackenzie. "Sorry," he said, lowering his voice.

In an odd occasion of sharing common ground, Webb backed up Chegwidden's opinion. "Hell Mac, Krantz wasn't pulling any punches. Evidence shows he paid someone to sabotage the Falcon's navigation system. He knew exactly the course that would take Harm into the heart of that storm. On top of that, he had an electronics failure rigged to bring the plane down, and he saw to it the survival box was useless too."

Mac knew nothing she could say would change their opinions. Secretly, she thanked God that Harm had put his foot down and forbade her going with him. She stood and placed her sleeping daughter into her husband's outstretched arms. "Krantz didn't factor in a bull-headed Navy aviator."

Harm had the good sense to look embarrassed before adding, "He didn't factor in that farmer who reported the flames of the Falcon to the local authorities; or the higher power in the form of my little girl who kept me alive and led me into the hands of the rescue team."

"No he didn't," Chegwidden said, admiring the baby in Harm's arms. "I envy this little girl's ability to command you," he smirked. "Oh, I almost forgot. I brought this for the little lady."

Mac accepted and unwrapped the gift on Mackenzie's behalf. "The Lion King. Thank you, Sir."

Harm smiled and whispered in his daughter's ear. "Now we don't have to rent it." He looked up to find everyone staring at him. Before anyone asked, he re-directed everyone's attention to the black garbage bag Clay had brought with him. "What have you got there, Webb?"

"Some items I got the investigative team to release to me." With that Clay waved goodbye and left the room with the Admiral.

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Mac opened the plastic bag and pulled out a rucksack, "It's yours, isn't it?"

Harm's eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?" Mac asked.

"You'll laugh."

"What if I promise I won't?"

Harm shook his head. "I thought it would be a Scooby Doo pack that Grandma Sarah got for Mackenzie."

Mac opened Harm's larger pack and smiled. "You mean this one?"

His face lit up. "Yeah! What else is in there?"

One by one, Mac pulled out more items.

"Oh Harm, it's beautiful!"

"Grandma wanted you to have the sewing kit; and some of the cookies she baked."

Mac held up the empty plastic bag, in which only a few telltale crumbs remained.

Harm shrugged. "I was hungry."

"You're forgiven." She then pulled out the matching winter caps and modeled the 'I'm the Mom' cap, before tossing Harm the 'Dad' cap.

"Looks good on you, Mrs. Rabb."

"Tell me that when I'm thirty pounds lighter, Mr. Rabb,

She pulled out the little flashlight next and Harm couldn't help but laugh. "Grandma was so excited when she bought that for me. She thought it was the best thing since sliced bread."

Mac gave it a few shakes to confirm it still worked before reaching deep into the backpack. "There's something else."

She pulled out a small, brown-paper bag with a note scrawled on it. After reading the note to herself, she looked inside the sack and her eyes immediately filled with tears. Choking back a sob, she moved alongside Harm.

"Mac? What is it? What's the note say?"

She leaned into him. "It's from the team that found you," she sniffed. "It reads 'Clutched in the victim's hand when found.'"

Harm stuck his hand into the bag and slowly pulled out the two little red mittens that dangled from a knitted string of rainbow colored yarn. He studied the 'faces' on each and smiled before draping them around his neck. He then used his left arm to pull his daughter closer and his right to embrace his wife. As their heads met, Harm whispered, "We're really blessed, aren't we Mac?"

"That's an understatement, Counselor."

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The End.


End file.
